I’m in line at the checkout, and the customer immediately in front of me is being 100% a jerk. There is a noticeable delay between the cashier scanning each item and the machine sounding the recognizable “beep” sound that indicates the item has been scanned. This is making the customer ahead of me angry.

Customer: “Why are you scanning so slowly? Are you slow, too? Have I got into the ‘special’ lane?”

Cashier: “The network is running slower than usual, so I can’t scan as fast as I usually would without risking missing an item.”

Customer: “So then skip an item! I’ll pay less, and you’ll learn how much it costs to keep your customers waiting!”

Cashier: “I’m afraid I can’t as management has explained—”

Customer: “Well, management is who I am going to be complaining to when I tell them that their cashier is scanning so slowly that all the customers think she’s a f****** r****d!”

That’s it; he’s gone too far. I employ my de-escalation tactic, which usually works, by speaking up to the cashier.

Me: “Wow, I would like to interject to say that I’m amazed at how professionally you’re handling this impolite conversation and crazy situation. I would like you to know that I intend to speak to your management to give you a good review and ask if they can give you a bonus.”

The customer stared at me, and I stared back, trying my best not to blink. He just sighed angrily and finished his transaction without any more verbal abuse.

Sometimes NOT matching their energy and acting like their temper tantrum is like water off a duck’s back — while clearly taking the employee’s side — really deflates the enthusiasm of the badly behaved customer!

Related:
Kill Them With Kindness

I’m meeting a friend at a small coffee shop about halfway between our respective houses. I’ve never been to this coffee shop, so I message my friend as I enter to see if she’s already there. A brief check and I don’t see her, so I figure I’ll order and grab a table.

As I’m heading to the counter, someone reaches out and grabs my arm. I realize it’s my friend; she has her back to the door so I didn’t immediately recognize her. Sitting across from her is a guy I don’t know.

Friend: “Hey, [My Name]! Glad to see you.”

Me: “You, too! Did you get your coffee?”

Friend: “Yeah, I’ve just been chatting with…”

Guy: “[Guy].”

I sort of acknowledge him and realize my friend isn’t quite panicking, but she’s sort of starting to dig her nails into my arm.

Me: “Ah. Well, sorry I’m late. I’ll just go get some coffee.”

Guy: “Oh, do you mind if I hang out with you guys?”

Friend: “You know, that’d be great. But she and I haven’t seen each other in a long time, and we want to catch up.”

It has only been a couple of months if that since we’ve seen each other in person, and we text all the time. Plus, her brother and my brother are best friends. But I get the idea.

Me: “Yeah, sorry, just been a while. Lots to catch up on.”

Guy: “Cool, cool. All right, thanks for the drink.”

He finally gets up and leaves. I slip into his empty seat.

Me: “So…”

Friend: “Sorry about that, I—”

She’s interrupted by one of the baristas coming over; I think he might be a manager.

Barista: “Did he bother you at all? I tried to keep an eye on him, but we got really busy.”

Friend: “Oh, no, it was fine. I was waiting for my friend anyway.”

Barista: “He comes in occasionally and tries to get people to buy him coffee. We haven’t had issues yet, but he’s made a few people uncomfortable. If he comes back, let me know. In the meantime, can I get you some coffee?”

Friend: “I still have mine, but she might want something?”

I went up and ordered, and the barista didn’t let me pay because my friend had bought the guy a coffee. She told me that he’d come into the coffee shop right behind her — not following her but the next person in the door. They’d started chatting while in line, and when she mentioned meeting someone, he’d wormed his way into getting her to buy his coffee and then sitting down with him. He wasn’t outside when we left as far as we were able to tell. 

It’s been almost ten years, and I wonder about him occasionally. From my friend’s discussion, he didn’t have any obvious issues, but we didn’t want to assume. We didn’t meet at that coffee shop again, although that was more due to relocations and it no longer being in the middle than outright trying to avoid this guy.

As a teacher myself, I am still somewhat flabbergasted about some events that took place when I was in high school. I previously wrote this story about some of it. That day with the surgery and the exam was actually even more infuriating as I had a run-in with the PE teacher who threatened to flunk me for missing class that morning, and only that morning.

The fact that I showed her papers from the surgery that proved that I was in the hospital didn’t matter; I had to participate in swim class the following month to be sure to not flunk. I showed her the papers stating that I was forbidden from swimming for two months following the surgery (inner ear), and she began hurling insults at me like I had PLANNED to have my eardrum collapse. In that case, I knew that she had zero grounds to flunk me as I had all the medical papers in order.

When I wasn’t on heavy medication, I did my best to get some training in, mostly biking to and from school. (I am spoiled enough to come from the town with the best bike lane coverage in my country.) My high school was in the neighbouring town, 15 km from home, so I biked 150 km per week.

My darling PE teacher accosted me whilst I was on my way to PE class. (I always biked in the PE clothes when we began the day with PE as it saved me a couple of minutes, and my regular clothes didn’t get sweaty that way.) She began berating me for being chubby and lazy and “never, ever do anything active”.

I was holding my bike, and I pointed out to her that I had biked from [Hometown] just like I did every day. Apparently, biking 150 km a week didn’t count. Huh. Who knew? I mean, cycling is an Olympic Sport and everything, but it wasn’t good enough for her.

In PE, we had some things we did in Year 1 that counted toward our final grade, and ditto for Year 2. Our classy PE teacher took all her notes about what we had achieved and had a bonfire, which made it almost impossible for us to get our final grades. In my case, it didn’t matter much as I have zero talent for PE, but it was quite nerve-wracking for my more athletically inclined classmates.

She was equally thrilled the following year when I was on antibiotics for eight months, constantly changing to stronger doses, and forbidden to participate in regular PE during my ailment. Instead, I was doing workouts. Again, I had orders from the doctor, but she was not happy.

She retired before our final year, and our next PE teacher was amazing.

Related:
If You Could Grade Teachers, An F Would Be More Than She Deserves

An older lady is making a purchase with me.

Old Lady: “It’s been a while since I’ve been shopping on my own! I usually come with my daughter, so it’s exciting to get out and stretch my legs on my own.”

Me: “That’s good! I love a bit of personal retail therapy now and again.”

A younger guy in line behind her rolls his eyes and loudly proclaims:

Customer: “Let’s move it along, ladies! Not all of us have all day to chat!”

Old Lady: “I was just saying hello! No need to be rude.”

Customer: “Just buy what you need and go!”

The old lady doesn’t seem too bothered, but I am upset for her that her first solo shopping experience in a while is being ruined by this total tosser.

Old Lady: *With a glint in her eye* “Do you still accept cheques?”

Me: *Also smiling* “We do!”

She starts to get out her chequebook, and the other customer rolls his eyes again.

Customer: “F*** this!”

He walks to the other side of the floor and makes his purchase there. He still feels the need to come back and have a go at us again.

Customer: “You tried to delay me on purpose!”

Old Lady: “I might have.”

Customer: “You failed!”

Old Lady: “So did your daddy’s condom!”

He had nothing to say to that, and I had to hold back my laughter!

Shockingly, the old lady wasn’t Scottish!

Related:
Are We Sure This Story Isn’t From Scotland?
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 3
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 2
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman
Tell Me You’re In Scotland Without Telling Me You’re In Scotland

I admit that I was kind of an a**hole in this story, but I don’t think it was completely unjustified. I was doing some shopping in a state that allows you to buy alcohol in grocery stores. This is not something I can do in my home state. As I approached the registers, I saw signs at the self-checkouts that said you could not buy alcohol or tobacco at the self-checkouts. That made sense, so I went further to find a manned register.

An employee in a blue vest and name tag stepped into my path.

Employee: “You can’t buy alcohol at self-checkout. You have to go to a regular register.”

Me: *With a polite smile* “I just saw the sign. I’m—”

Employee: “You have to go to a regular register.”

Me: “Yes… thank you.”

Employee: “You can’t—”

Me: “I got it, thank you.”

I pushed the cart past him before he could repeat himself again. I only got a few feet before I ran into another problem: there was only ONE manned register open, and the line was so long that it went through the main aisle and into the apparel section. I looked back at the employee.

At first, I thought he was working on a handheld device, then I saw that what he was holding had a colorful case and he was typing away.

Me: “Is it possible to get another cashier?”

Employee: *Rolls his eyes* “We’re short-staffed. If you want your alcohol, you’ll just have to wait your turn.” *Fake smile*

Me: “Oh. Okay.”

I took the alcohol out of my cart and put it on a nearby shelf. 

Employee: “Hey! You can put that back where you got it, you know.”

Me: “You said if I want it, I have to wait. I don’t want it bad enough to wait in a line ten people long.” *Shrugs* “Now I can go through self-checkout.”

I went to the self-checkout and was out of the store in under ten minutes. I passed the manned register and saw that every cart had alcohol and almost every cart was full.